


Not a Boneyard, But a New Beginning

by VolunteerFieryDantooinian



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fever, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post Resurrection Illness, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 04:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15453555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolunteerFieryDantooinian/pseuds/VolunteerFieryDantooinian
Summary: The tiefling comes to him in the dead of night. How he got here is a mystery, but it is Clay’s job to bring living things back from the brink. There is something special about this one, something different.





	Not a Boneyard, But a New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I had this in my mind the second we met Clay, and I wasn’t able to let go of the thought. spoilers for Critical Role episodes 26-28.

The tiefling came to Clay in the dead of night. Logically, of course, there was almost no way that anyone could have made their way through the woods safely at this time. This went double for people who were alone. But somehow, he had ended up stumbling outside the little stone home that Caduceus had for himself. 

It had started when he was making tea, and the slightest edge of a sound had caught his ear. A rustling, per se, that he’d barely caught over the sound of rain. He had figured it was nothing. That is, until a loud crash had sounded out, and when he had opened the door he found a soaking wet tiefling of vaguely androgynous appearance. He was wrapped in a tapestry emblazoned with a symbol Clay recognized: the Platinum Dragon. He was also wearing a coat that seemed to have as many colors as the flowers that grew here. 

Most notably, however, he was unconscious. 

“It’s been some time since I’ve had visitors,” Caduceus mused to himself, and haphazardly carried the person inside, adornments and all. He carefully removed the soaking wet tapestry and jacket, finding that his clothes underneath were also soaked, with a few odd swipes of dirt here and there.

Not wanting to invade privacy, he only removed the tiefling’s shirt, and found he was covered in a strange smattering of scars across his whole body. The most recent of which was a pink, painful looking one on his sternum. It should have been fatal, by the looks of it. Hm. He stirred, and made a soft sound that wasn’t unlike a cry of pain. He was shivering, and when Caduceus pressed the back of his large, furred hand to his forehead, he found that the tiefling was burning with fever. “Mm. You’re in quite the state, aren’t you?” He laid him down gently in his bed, tucking the covers up to his chest and starting on another pot of tea.

He tapped the large, glowing chunk of amethyst against the bottom of the kettle, and it began to warm. Soon enough, the kettle was boiling, and he slowly went through his collection of flowers and medicinal plants that could possibly help the ailing stranger. The pot whistled, and he poured the heated water over the leaves of the tea.

He let it steep, and watched the tiefling all the while. He didn’t seem to be awake yet, but he was tossing and turning, occasionally mumbling things like ‘there’s time for that later’ and something indecipherable about chaos. It was a bit worrying, but Caduceus was not worried himself. This was a stranger, but they were also someone who would not die before their time. He wasn’t sure why he knew that, but he didn’t question it.

Once the tea had been infused with the leaves for long enough, he walked quietly over to the bed and knelt down next to the tiefling. He set his hand against the side of his face, tipping his chin up slightly. “I need you to drink this for me,” He said, voice quiet and calm.

The tiefling stirred, and liquid red eyes fluttered into view behind his long lashes. Panic flickered in his eyes. “You’re alright,” He murmured. “Well. You’re safe here, anyway,” Caduceus held out the tea for him to take, and noted that he’d certainly spill it if he tried to hold the cup, given he could hardly raise his arms.  He set his hands down in defeat. “That’s alright,” he murmured, gently pressing the cup to his lips and helping him sip the drink. He managed to drink about half of it before shaking his head. Caduceus set the cup down. “That should help out with that fever of yours,” He said, and the tiefling shivered slightly, eyes beginning to flutter shut again. 

After a short time, his guest fell back into fitful, restless sleep. He was shivering harder now, sweat beading on his forehead. His fever was getting worse, which Clay knew could happen after treatment. It had to get worse before it could get better. 

Still, he could make him comfortable, and he wetted a strip of cloth in cold water, laying it against his forehead.

He sat in the quiet night for a while, watching over the sick tiefling and humming slightly as his fever fluctuated over time. Clay noticed the tattoos all over his body; the snake curled down his arm, the flowers. The peacock on his neck. The red marks were unsettling, old magic, but for some reason he knew this person did not mean harm to him. 

He woke once in the night, and as he did, he was whimpering and gasping for breath. Unlike before, he was coughing, dry, hacking coughs. Within mere seconds, tears were tracking down his cheeks. Caduceus had rushed over, and the stranger had curled up in his lap. He had accepted the sudden change in position, knowing contact could help him sweat out the fever. Though he was thin for a Firbolg, he ran quite warm, and the tiefling bit his lip, taking in shaky breaths. 

“Yasha,” he cried, groaning in pain and shivering in Clay’s arms. He pressed his hand to his forehead. His fever had skyrocketed, and Clay hummed gently, pushing his sweat-damp hair away from his forehead and helping to calm him down. 

“It’s alright, just take a deep breath. You’re going to be alright, your body is just confused,” He promised, replacing the wet cloth with a new one and dabbing it gently against his forehead. “That fever of yours has hardly gone down. You’re real sick, stranger,” Clay murmured. His skin was pale and tinged with an unhealthy color. He held a waterskin to his lips and helped him drink, making sure he took it slow considering how unwell he was. He didn’t want him to be overwhelmed; the tiefling looked nearly malnourished. After what felt like hours, the stranger managed to doze off, after a few more miserable sounds and dry, painful coughs.

While the stranger slept, Clay prepared stew. It was something his father had made for him whenever he was feeling under the weather. Warm, nourishing broth, but gentle on an off-kilter stomach, and all kinds of greens. Mushrooms from his garden, of course. The most important ingredient, though, were the thoughtfully decided upon spices. 

The soup simmered for a long while, long enough for him to begin to get sleepy. Through the day, he got sleepier. The tiefling in his lap was still sleeping, and his fever had finally begun to calm. Surely he could get some rest..

Suddenly, after halfway dozing off, Clay was brought awake by the stranger bolting upright in his lap, gasping for air. He brought an arm around his back and frowned slightly. “Easy, there,” He said, and the tiefling looked at him with panic in his eyes and a positively sickened expression on his face. “Alright, you’re okay. Breathe slow for me, your body’s just catching up to your mind,” He soothed, and rubbed his back gently. “What’s your name, stranger?” 

The stranger swallowed hard, still shivering even in the warm air. He coughed a few times, shoulders hitching. Caduceus steadied him. “There’s no rush, it’s alright,” Clay handed him a newly warmed mug of tea and helped him sip. This one was for nerves, mostly, and contained a mild sedative that would help him relax. He was able to hold the mug by himself, but Caduceus helped him guide it to his mouth, with how badly his hands shook. He sipped the drink and met Clay’s eyes. 

“Mollymauk,” His voice was a weak, rough whisper. Clay smiled. 

“Mollymauk, hm? The birds who guide the spirits of sailors home. I respect that. My name is Caduceus Clay, but if you can’t pronounce that, Clay will do just fine,” He responded, and Mollymauk smiled weakly before setting down the mug and swaying slightly. Caduceus helped him back down into bed. “I’ve got some soup that should be just about done by now. Do you think you can keep that down?” He asked, voice calm as always. Mollymauk nodded weakly. 

Clay ladled out a steaming, fragrant bowl of soup. He decided just to give him broth for now; he didn’t seem to have much energy for things like solid food. Mollymauk was still very weak, and with the sedative beginning to kick in he was barely able to hold the bowl. 

“Sorry,” He mumbled, voice weak.

“Now, what are you sorry for, Mollymauk? You’ve done nothing wrong,” Clay said, frowning slightly. 

“Being a burden on a stranger,” He managed, voice weak. Clay shook his head. 

“You’re no such thing. This is what I do. Save that worrying energy for getting better, hm?” Caduceus soothed, and Mollymauk nodded. He helped him sip the broth, and smiled a little as the color began to return to his cheeks. Unexpectedly, he managed to finish the bowl.

“Is there a chance I could have more?” Mollymauk asked meekly, almost embarrassed. Clay frowned. 

“You don’t look as if you’ve been eating well recently, I don’t want to overwhelm your stomach,” He explained. Mollymauk nodded, and relaxed into bed, still more than slightly loopy from fever and the tea. With a full stomach and illness still sapping his strength, he fell asleep very quickly, head still halfway on Caduceus’ shoulder.

He was glad that he had come upon this stranger. 


End file.
